


With Your Head Through the Wall

by wickersnap



Series: Reset [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Background Open Relationship, Background Polyamory, Background Relationships, Bathrooms, Enemies to Lovers, Fist Fights, High School Drama, Kinda, Multi, Teencast, Trans Character, a mix of everything, ftm Rythian, group chat cameos, minor denial, very little angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: Hours tick by as leisurely as they please, but the weeks up to exams always spin away much faster than anyone can be comfortable with. Rythian just doesn't understand this bloody physics work, and he wants so hard to be able to blame it on the little paper ball notes lined up at the front of his desk, because Lalna has been on his mind for the past two weeks and really, really this cannot be healthy.





	1. Physics

**Author's Note:**

> dear god what a shit summary.  
> I'm Sorry, I'm a massive loser.  
> Less Xephos in this one, probably, because we're Rythian-centric this time (wahoo, as I had planned previously and failed). Still, hope it's enjoyable!

School is one of those things that Rythian is rather ambivalent about; apathetic in most ways, until something concerning him becomes irritating. And now they’re in their last year, with the top brass breathing down their collars like they’re children again, and Jessica from Mercury boasting about her lack of virginity in the English corridor.

_Revision, revision, revision,_ in their faces like it’s mantra, and by now none of them could care less at all.

He’s sitting on a bench between Ravs and Zylus, chewing on the end of his pen. He’s forgotten the equation for magnetic flux density again—and _this,_ this is why he prefers chemistry—so he has to flip back and forth and write it at the top of every page until he gets it.

“Magnetism is bullshit,” he mutters, rolling his lip between his teeth.

“Literally no one likes it,” Zylus agrees.

“There’s only so much even _researchers_ know about it,” starts Xephos, perched on the low wall, who doesn’t have room to complain whatsoever. “I don’t know why they think it’s a good idea to only be teaching it now when we have, like, three months to know _everything_.”

“Yeah, yeah, _genius,_ you’re just bored of 100-percent-ing all your work.” Ravs huff and pokes him in the knee. Xephos frowns and pulls his feet up so he’s cross-legged.

“That’s a massive exaggeration, I’m not that good at anything…”

Everyone, even Zoey sitting by Rythian’s feet, glares at him.

“We’ll push you off that if you say that again,” he threatens.

“Fuck, don’t!” Xephos yelps, looking behind him when Ravs jabs him again. “It’s a bloody long drop down here— _why_ they decided to put these back-alley steps in I have _no_ idea…”

Rythian tries to ignore his grumbling, scribbling down some careless equation and whatever his calculator says. He scowls at the display and its lack of pity, shoving his pen and calculator back into his pencil case after the last question and folding the sheet. He slides it into the back of his planner with three minutes of break left to spare.

“What’s next again?” Ravs asks as if he hasn’t had his timetable for a term and a half already.

“French, then science, then science again, then maths,” Zylus says, kicking his feet out against his bag.

“So, I have Geography?” Ravs guesses.

“Yes, yes you do.” Rythian sighs.

Xephos, who’s slid down to steal something out of Zylus’ blazer, glances up at him.

“Lalna’s not in today, you know.”

Rythian narrows his eyes. “And why do you think I care?” He shrugs.

“Just thought you might want to know.”

“I don’t _care,_ ” he repeats, sounding a tiny,  _tiny_ bit petulant even to himself. Xephos seems to be struggling not to smile. “Shut up.”

 

But he has to admit that physics without the intermittent paper ball note thrown at his head feels odd. _Strange, satisfying, fulfilling,_ are the words he thinks he’s looking for. There’s no one to kick in the shins as they walk past or to punch square in the nose, though, and he feels the loss. Instead, he throws a pencil at Xephos in chemistry when he tries to hide his _26/27_ under smiles and another sheet of paper. It hits him hard in the back of the head.

 

On Wednesday they finally get back around to Language Questions 5 in English, which Rythian is very pleased about. Admittedly, persuasion is mind-numbingly _dull,_ but he doesn’t have to look at Paper 2 until next week, so he contents himself articulating a quiet stream of ideas on paper. He feels as if he’s one of the only people properly appreciating the practise time, though, when others like Angor and Lomadia are stopping to stare into space every other sentence.

He makes it all the way to the PE block with them before he notices he’s forgotten his kit. He stops short and holds up a finger.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he says, waving jovially to their (unimpressed) teacher as he jogs out of the door and back towards science, just as the bell shrills for the start of period four. He doesn’t bother rushing up the stairs—mostly because there are three flights of them—and shoves through the door on the top floor. Just his luck: his absolute favourite person in the world is the only one still in the corridor, sitting on the edge of the bin and scrolling through his phone. Clearly, he transcends the rules.

A little short of breath, Rythian walks quickly to his locker, throwing his rucksack to the floor, and tugs off the lock. His is one of the only doors _with_ a lock, but he has his reasons, and when he pulls out his PE kit, he feels his elbow land solidly in someone’s abdomen.

“Serves you right,” he growls, turning around to Lalna lurking right behind him. He abandons his bag to cross his arms over his chest. “What do you want? It better be good.”

Lalna pens him in with his arms, holding onto the top of the locker grid. Rythian is a little too tall for him to rest his elbows on his shoulders.

“What’s your deal?” Lalna asks. Rythian recoils, despite the lack of threat in his voice, and frowns at him, lip curled, shoving against his chest.

“What the fuck do you mean, _what’s my deal?_ What’s _your_ deal, asshole? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“You _know_ what I’m talking about,” Lalna insists. He sounds tired. Rythian ignores it.

“No, I don’t! And that’s the problem, because I never do! You just _do_ things. And you never make sense and it _infuriates_ me. You’re always—”

The door from the stairs crashes back against the wall, loose handle rattling. He can’t see who’s there for his locker door, but Lalna fumbles for it, swinging it round fully to hide their faces. Rythian frowns again. He listens to the footsteps making their way down the corridor, past the classroom doors and towards them. When he realises they’re going to walk straight past them, Lalna crowds Rythian against the lockers, leaning in from the open side. He’s just taller than him now, not-quite looming, but he can’t see over his shoulder. He’s close enough that Rythian is beginning to sweat, anticipating.

“Lalna what the f—”

Lalna doesn’t say anything before he presses in, sliding a hand, cold from the metal, down Rythian’s neck to his shoulder, holding him still. Listening out for the unknown person, Rythian leans up into his full height. Lalna is pushing him gently back against the shelf of his locker, and the metal is cold and blunt, digging awkwardly into one of his vertebrae. The person pauses by the far corner. Lalna’s breathing is somewhat heavy, tickling the curve of his ear. It’s warm, too warm between them, but not as uncomfortable as one would think. The footsteps are soon echoing down the next corridor. He stretches up so the shelf lodges somewhere more comfortable, but Lalna pulls back anyway. When Rythian looks up, he’s still there in his face, watching him, and his breath fans across his cheek. Irritation and shame, but mostly shame, well up inside him.

“Don’t want to be seen with me that much, eh?” Rythian murmurs. This _something_ of a message hurts, as selfish as he knows it to be thinking about his own feelings. Rythian is selfish, and he’s just got to learn to live with it. He glances down to where he’s clenched his fists in Lalna’s jumper unthinkingly and releases him.

“Rythian, no, don’t be like that.”

“Like, what, Lalna?” He says incredulously, and much more loudly, throwing his hands up and sidestepping him. He kicks him in the ankle for good, childish measure. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he adds, snatching his bags off the floor and throwing them over his shoulder. “Just leave me alone will you? Asshole.”

He spends the whole of PE trying his best to slack off with Daltos, and the whole of lunch hiding out with Radders, Bedgar and Angor. If they mind his intrusion of their corner, they don’t say anything.

 

The next day is a better day, and not only because he doesn’t have to chase after a shuttlecock for two hours. He makes it in for registration with only two minutes to spare, though his tutor certainly wouldn’t care either way. Condensation steams the windows like a frosted winter greetings card, but not quite left with the desired effect—just depressing, now, in the early March rain.

Today, anyway, Jupiter’s registration is a more entertaining one. Or at least, it’s louder. The girl squad that have taken over the left side of the room are chatting loudly, trading insults and gossip with Turps and Sips. There’s some kind of paper scrap war going across the class, and hell if he’s helping to clear it up. Fiona kicks out a chair for him. They don’t talk much, because it’s too early for any sensible conversation, but the company is nice for the ritual social media scrolling. Through the general commotion he can hear the giggling in the corner beside him from tiny Beth, who apparently has a good story to share about the alcove outside DT.

_Breaking News: Xephos sighted snogging Angor,_ he sends to the group chat.

> Sjinfacts: _Damnnnnnnn_
> 
> Sjinfacts: _We got another_
> 
> Daatloss: _imsgine me wolf whisttking_
> 
> You: _What do you have against autocorrect_
> 
> Daatloss: _This is my autocorrect_

A truly sad, sad response indeed.

> Daatloss: _but yh I’m aslo typing under the table_
> 
> Daatloss: _you’re lucky your teach dseon’t care_
> 
> Zy: _Wow Angor’s lowered his standards_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _Lividcoffee_ ]: _lol_
> 
> Nano Noodle: _lol_
> 
> Sharky: _Lol_
> 
> Palp: _Lol_
> 
> Turps: _savage lmao_
> 
> Turps: _Now the man himself has appeared, we ask the question: is this rumour true?_
> 
> Dirt guy: _who even cares_
> 
> Palp: _Cn neither confirm nor deny_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _shut upppp_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _And what does that say about you then eh Zylush?_
> 
> Zy: _That I could do so so much better?_
> 
> Radd is the new badd: _Lmao_
> 
> Skull candy: _#rekt_

Beside him, Fiona snorts.

> Probably an Alien: _Oh_ _shut up Mousie_
> 
> Sunshine: _Woooow, don’t be rude_
> 
> Rainbows: _yeah xephos no bullying_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Fuck you guys_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _anyway_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Do you not have anything better to talk about_
> 
> You: _Just serving up the fresh hot tea dude_
> 
> You: _Don’t shoot the messenger_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _You have no idea how much dirt I have on you_
> 
> Hoot hoot: _As much as we’d alllll just_ love _to know, I also think you should stop blowing up my phone thanks_
> 
> Dirt guy: _sorry grumpy ass_
> 
> That River in Egypt Somewhere: _she’ll be coming for u mate_

 

Bang on time, the first bell pushes phones back into pockets and scrapes chairs out from under (or around) desks. Rythian slouches at the prospect of traipsing back down the fifty-odd stairs he’d deigned to climb in the first place. He makes a note to ask Zylus about the Xephos situation later.

It’s drizzling outside. From afar, the concrete looks glazed, but under his feet crunches a mess of grit and dirt. Aside from the few troupes of overeager year sevens, everyone passing through the quads is subdued and disgruntled and loath to stay out in the rain. It’s just his luck, then, that walking towards humanities he meets Lalna who, per the usual, has the unbearably smug look of one with a secret to share. He holds open the door for Rythian to pass through, and climbs the stairs by his side until Rythian can see to escape to history on a lower floor. His confusion and wariness trickles into annoyance, but even that dissipates quickly enough. He amuses himself at several points during the day by drawing smiley faces on Ravs’ planner, Zoey’s hand, and Trott’s lab report. Xephos tries to return the pencil to the head from Monday but misses, and it is, unfortunately, retrieved by the seemingly ever-present Lalna who jabs Rythian in the neck with it. A note reading _with love_ is blu-tacked to the side. Rythian scowls, doesn’t notice the very slight change in feeling in his face, and definitely doesn’t care whose handwriting it is.

After lunch he writes the beginning to one of his best story ideas yet and ignores his embarrassment at using someone else’s characters. _Own your interests,_ Zoey told him. He’ll do just that, he thinks. Especially if it’ll get him a good grade. He realises, packing away his pencil case, that he forgot to talk to Zylus about this morning, and _then_ realises that he has no idea how to broach the subject, so spends all of business thinking about it.

In the end, Zylus laughs and answers all of his questions with a smile. Rythian has never seen an open or poly relationship in action so it is a fairly big revelation. Seemingly, they’re very happy, and so he supposes it’s all a good thing. Really, he thinks, once you learn about a thing it appears everywhere. He also wonders if he’s the only person who didn’t know, and whether or not it was by virtue of ignorance. He sure hopes not.

 

 


	2. English

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lads guess what I forgot existed/had another chapter written and drafted online already  
> I'm so sorry

The next week comes with more sun than the previous. Walking to school is suddenly uncomfortably warm with his binder, jumper _and_ blazer, but in the end he decides he doesn’t care if he’s sweating. He doesn’t have the capacity to give that much of a fuck anymore. In almost no time, it’s Friday again, and the only interesting thing to have cropped up was the meme war of Sjin and Mousie on the chat, oddly sparked in retaliation to someone having caught Sips and Sjin sending each other embarrassingly cute notes. He supposes he should’ve expected everyone to be lying in wait of new drama. Somehow though, he’s surprised to find a whole group of his friends hiding behind the side of the block he comes careening around in pursuit of Lalna. He glares at them, pausing only briefly and scornfully laughing to himself as they shuffle about and look shifty, before he stalks off again, letting the door into the building crash against the wall when he kicks it. They have no business—not _all_ of them—out the back of the toilets, other than to be skulking around to watch the fight, the losers.

Regardless, he’s fuming. He’s angry at _himself,_ mostly. Because he’s so easy to wind up. Because he’s so quick to rise to any bait.

Because Lalna knows _exactly_ which buttons to press.

He follows him all the way through English, jumping the steps two at a time and swinging himself by the doorframe into the first floor corridor. The door to the toilets thuds shut so he follows it through, dumping his bag next to where Lalna seems to have abandoned his outside the second door. He pushes through while adjusting how he’s rolled up his sleeve, very much expectant that he can get in at least one good punch before Lalna can catch him off, despite him having the obvious advantage.

Instead, he’s shoved from the side, behind the opening door, towards the sinks. He stumbles, swearing as he grabs for the ceramic rim. Lalna approaches and Rythian shoves him away, trying to rearrange his footing before he trips again. This time, Lalna stays a few paces back, and Rythian finds his feet and leans on the counter. 

“What are you doing,” he demands. “What do you want from me?”

Lalna’s mouth twists in a grimace. He looks fairly pained.

“Do you think it’s fun? Huh? I’m just that easy to toy with, right?”

“I mean, kind of,” Lalna admits, with a twitch of an eyebrow.

“Well I hope I’ve entertained you, because otherwise it’ll hardly be worth getting beaten the fuck up.” Rythian is fairly sure he sounds ridiculous, snarling, lashing out like a cornered animal.

“You sure talk big, pretty boy, I’d like to see you put any of it into action one day,” says Lalna, with a fairly odd smile. Despite Rythian’s childish kick in response, he saunters over slowly, tipping his head to the side with that same smile, only now looking up through his eyelashes. Rythian frowns, watching him as he nears. 

As if he’s missed a step on a flight of stairs, he’s struck completely dumbfounded. Lalna is… he’s _hot._ All of the tension that’s coiled up inside him swiftly dissipates, seemingly through Lalna’s palm as he places it on Rythian’s waist. As if shocked, he looks down at Lalna’s hand and then back up at his face. He is much, much closer than he had expected, but, somehow… it isn’t unpleasant. Rythian’s skin _crawls_ with his indecision because this _should feel so wrong._ Lalna’s asking permission. Rythian is terrified. He doesn’t know if Lalna notices, but he is terrified. He wants to squirm away, hyperventilate, fidget—do _something_ that doesn’t mean making a decision. Rather than any of those, he tilts his head to the side, to the side and _towards_ Lalna, and tries to even his breathing. Though his gaze is down, anywhere but Lalna, he can’t see anything but. He swears he can taste his hastening heartbeat.

Lalna’s lips meet his throat just below his shirt collar and his hips involuntarily roll forwards. He curls his fingers tightly into the untucked shirt corner above Lalna’s waistband. 

Slowly, Lalna makes his way across his neck. Rythian can’t but help the hitch in his breathing when he feels him latch onto the skin just below his ear, and digs him in the side when he laughs an airy breath across his cheek. Lalna continues mouthing at his jaw, running a hand down to the outside of one of Rythian’s thighs and moving up against him. Next he knows, Lalna’s lips are hot on his and he’s sitting up on the counter, wedged between two sinks, with Lalna pressed in between his legs. 

Rythian definitely loses sense of time. It stretches and shifts between each breath, uneven. Somehow, though he knows it’s stupid, following Lalna’s lead just feels like giving in. Rather than take his lead, Rythian pushes back against him. His fear dissipates when he isn’t looking, and he thinks he’s angry now—how _dare_ Lalna shift the goalposts on him, they’re supposed to be at each other’s necks, in a different sense, they’re supposed to _hate_ each other—but it’s not _quite_ anger, but it doesn’t matter, because he bites and nips at Lalna, who barely even reacts. He matches Rythian in energy, pulling him closer when he pushes harder, managing to keep it soft and steady, whatever _it_ is, while Rythian thinks he’s reaching a tipping point into the unknown. And they’re used to this; he is the sparks and the flare, skilled in practice however short-lived it may be, when Lalna appears the perfect balance in a well-timed insult, a fluid movement of limbs. 

Their house of cards is folding now Rythian is seeing through the cracks. He pulls on Lalna’s hair, sliding it out of its band, just to feel his grip tighten on his waist. Once, he tries trailing his fingers down Lalna’s chest and feels the groan low in his throat. He arches upwards, and Rythian likes it. Several times he makes noises that he only just about has presence of mind to be embarrassed about, but, to be fair, Lalna does too, seeming to throw himself wholeheartedly into this, so it shouldn’t matter. (It kind of still does.)

 

When Rythian can no longer feel his arse, he pulls gently away from Lalna and evens out his breathing. They’re caught in an uncomfortable staring contest; neither of them want to look away, watching for the smallest indications in a change of expression. 

 _People are difficult,_ Rythian thinks. _Very, very difficult._

Back on his proverbial feet, he exhales a deep breath with some certainty. His fingers trace from Lalna’s neck and shoulders down to his collar, where he softly nudges him backwards, slipping down off the counter. He moves around and out of Lalna’s hold, eyes glancing between him and the floor.

With a hand on the door handle, Rythian pauses and says, “See you, then,” before he’s off, swiping his bag off the floor and walking as quickly as he dares out of the building. The quad outside is deserted, and so is the entranceway, aside from Zoey, who is leant against the railing waiting for him. 

She doesn’t mention his lack of contribution to the conversation, because she’s great like that.

  
  


 

> **AQA memes or death**
> 
> _Saturday 14:18_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _oh yes_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _How the turn tables_
> 
> Probably an Alien: @You _the secret dirt is no longer a secret_
> 
> You: _What now_
> 
> Sjinfacts: _hehehehe :3c_
> 
> Nano Noodle: _ominous_
> 
> Palp: _All that dirt huh_
> 
> Smiffy: _Petty payback is my favourite payback_
> 
> Trott: _One of the few joys of this life_
> 
> Ravishing: _Payback meaning returns on all the times Xephos has been caught snogging you?_
> 
> Smiffy: _yeaaaa boy_
> 
> Palp: _Yeah lol_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Betrayal of the highest order_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Anyway, we been knew_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _And it wasn’t even me who took the picture soooooo_
> 
> Probably an Alien added [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ]
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ]: _What_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ]: _Is this about the picture_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ]: _I didn’t take it_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ] added [Unsaved contact: _parvinator11000_ ]
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _W. Strife_ ]: _Parv you deal with it_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _parvinator11000_ ]: _ok strifey :) <3 _
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _parvinator11000_ ]: IMG0127
> 
> Parvis: _:)_
> 
> Sjinfacts: _:3cccc_
> 
> Skull candy: _ah fu c k_
> 
> Skull candy: _I can’t believe you’ve done this_
> 
> You: _oh wonderful_
> 
> Will Strife: _Well I mean you were just_ there _you know_
> 
> Parv: _it was really funny_
> 
> Parv: _will went really red_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _Lividcoffee_ ]: _Oh_
> 
> [Unsaved contact: _Lividcoffee_ ]: _Oops_
> 
> You: _Oops is right_
> 
> You: _But did you have to take a photo parvis_
> 
> Parv: _you didn’t even notice!_
> 
> You: _no shit_
> 
> Nano Noodle: _well ain’t this a turn of events_
> 
> Zy: _Only for the people who didn’t see it coming_
> 
> Nano Noodle: _so only Rythian then_
> 
> Skull candy: _#rekt_
> 
> You: _I’ll show myself out_
> 
> You have left this chat. You can no longer send messages here.
> 
> _Saturday 14:27_
> 
> Zy has added you to the chat… 

  
  


Bombardment of the group chat aside, Rythian thinks very little about The Thing over his weekend. Partly because he is emotionally repressed at the best of times, and partly because the butterflies turn to hummingbirds in his stomach if he even comes close. He does not know what to do. He can, quite veritably, say that he is panicking.

Now it’s Monday morning and he’s sitting in his place in registration with his forehead pressed to the desk. Fiona and Zoey fall into place either side of him. A good few minutes pass by where none of them speak, and the loud background clamour of the class somehow, improbably, lulls him back to sleep. 

When someone tears a piece of paper near his ear he jolts alive again, blinking around to see it sitting by his hand, corners furled and scuffed.

 _Don’t think about it anymore,_ it reads, _just go with the flow and what you feel when it happens,_ from Zoey. _We’ll beat up anyone who hurts you :),_ Fiona has added in red. Rythian snorts and folds it away into his pocket. 

“So,” he sighs, smiling tiredly at the two girls, “how are you both today?”

“Good!” Zoey says, too chipper for half eight in the morning. “Fifi and I went to that new ice-cream place down the road yesterday and it was really good—I didn’t even know places like those really existed around here.”

“The dessert place? What did you get?”

“What do you think she got?” Fiona laughs. “Only the most elaborate sounding thing on the menu. What was it again?”

“Orange chocolate sundae with honeycomb pieces, whipped cream, chocolate wafers, syrup and strawberry chunks,” Zoey grins. She fiddles with her thin silver charm necklace. A tiny unicorn horn glints in the frigid morning sun. “Fiona got a crȇpe, which wasn’t very ice-cream like for an ice-cream place.”

“It had ice-cream with it! And anyway, it’s much too cold to be eating cold things yet,” she says. She gives Rythian an amused smile. “We’ll take you there sometime. Maybe when it’s warmer.”

“That would be nice,” he agrees, imagining the bone-deep cold after eating a sundae in seven-degree weather. 

When they head out to lessons, they wave goodbye to him outside languages. Rythian salutes them and smiles at the way Zoey swings their hands as they walk before shuffling over a block to humanities. Just another few weeks before Easter, it’s practically nothing, surely.

His peace lasts all the way to physics. Like scheduled, the second their teacher looks away from them, a small paper ball pings off the back of his head. Rythian sighs heavily, bending back off his stool to retrieve it. He sits it in what usually becomes a neat row in front of his pencil case. 

After twenty minutes with no other forthcoming intrusions, Rythian frowns and fidgets, glancing a few times over his shoulder. Lalna is scribbling away, finger over a passage of the textbook. Even Daltos beside him looks a little thrown by the change in programme. The little wad of paper jeers at him. He’s wary to look, so only when they’re packing up for lunch does he unfurl the page. For the first time in a long time, Lalna has used one of his projectiles as a note.

_I’m sorry about the picture. I had no idea they would do that. Sorry._

Stopped dead in his tracks, people are still fussing around him while he processes Lalna’s message. When he turns on his heel it’s with a hint of urgency, stalking over to Lalna’s place and dropping the tiny ball back into his open bag. 

“Not your fault, is it,” he says, leaving before Lalna can reply. And he’s sure he should probably be worrying about discretion and secrecy and all, but really—people are never going to stop talking about the things they should keep their noses out of the most.

 

At lunch, everybody seems to have gathered in one large group in the hall. Mostly a rare event, really; they take up almost all of the floor space—some bizarre and highly unusual collection, and almost half of their year. Rythian finds himself wedged in with Zoey, Craig, Honeydew and Sjin on one side. So many conversations are taking place at once, alongside those happening at top volume across the almost-circle and the piles of bags they’re all jammed in with. Even Ross, Trott and Smith have deigned to join them, sitting mostly on top of each other, causing rolling peals of raucous laughter across the room. Xephos, ever their loyal suck-up, is right in there with them, looking like a guest of honour. Littlewood, Bedgar and Mousie return from the canteen tossing food out to several people. A midday supervisor yells from the sidelines when a drinks bottle goes into the mix. Last time, a game of nick-someone’s-water had ended up with three bottles to the face, a considerable wet patch on someone’s books, and a lot of laughter and yelling. There’s a general no-throwing rule which everybody ignores, but oh well.

The strange, impromptu gathering has Rythian feeling warm with happiness and comfort, feeling more and more like he’s made himself a home in their weird, unconventional family of friends. Annoyingly, his eye is caught by Lalna, several times, but only once is a wolf-whistle directed at him, and today he can take it in good grace (thank god).

Regardless of his voice growing hoarse, and his not-inconsiderable energy exertion, he feels as though his spirits have been lifted for the rest of the week, and chemistry is only more calculations practice, mercifully.

 

“So,” Trott starts. 

“So,” Rythian agrees.

“Have people been giving you shit about that thing on the chat?”

Rythian smiles, tamping down on the imminent anxiety. “Hardly, really. I expected a lot worse, I guess.”

Trott considers this with a nod. He hums, drawing his pen nib in absent circles in the corner of his page. Rythian hits enter on his calculator and write down the first four digits.

“You know if you have any problems we’re happy to deal with people for you, right?” He asks, and this time Rythian laughs.

“How very chivalrous of you, Sir.”

“Anytime,” he snorts.

“So you’re not going to ask about it, then?” Rythian asks, just to get it out of the way.

“None of my business, is it? Unless you want to talk, that is.”

Rythian hums. “I thought you three’d want to know everything that goes on, just to keep up top of your game.”

“Smith might, but we can bullshit anything, anyway.”

“You forgot to convert to decimetres,” Rythian points out, tapping his pen to Trott's page. “I appreciate it, though. Didn’t know you cared.”

“You don’t seem to know much, do you?”

“Wow, _harsh,_ ” Xephos comments, passing behind them. “I mean, it’s true, but you didn’t have to say it.” He pats Rythian heavily on the shoulder.

Rythian has awful friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the next instalment bc I know this is short! Suddenly rediscovered my motivation for this after absolutely smashing out my good omens fic and deciding I needed to write more. If anything you should blame me catching up with flux buddies and thinking _Will and Parv?????_ as soon as someone mentioned blood magic so. Hi again I guess :)  
>  Berate me on [tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


	3. Maths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What I wanted to get across in this fic was sort of the idea that secondary school is messy and horrible and we all do regrettable things and those relationships are possibly the messiest, but I'm not sure how it comes across. I hope it works? Unsure, but just know that everyone throughout this story is kind and nice and they don't really dislike each other (not anymore, in some cases) and everything is all in good faith. Just in case the previous chapters were a bit iffy.

At this point in the year it is almost certainly too late to try to relearn the entire maths curriculum, but Rythian is so done with the class and he just _does not get it._ He feels guilty for giving up when he’s barely tried to help himself, but he’s just so tired, you know? That ever-present ache that makes you want to lie down and switch between scrolling through your phone and sleeping for the next year. Everyone knows that one, but just— _all_ the damn time. 

He’s not the worst in his class, far from, but he still feels so far behind where he should be. Panic has been sitting just below the surface, welling up and simmering and threatening to overwhelm him regularly. Ravs and Xephos find him in their corner behind the ground floor lockers at break on Thursday, head in hands over his incomplete homework. He knows, then, that he can either give up now or… Or what?

“You good?” Asks Ravs, plonking himself down unceremoniously across from him. He looks to his left to find a weird sticky patch on the wall and shies away from it, grimacing.

“No,” Rythian groans, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve got it,” with a hand landing heavily on his book to indicate, “after chemistry and we were meant to hand this in yesterday.” He picks it up and waves it lazily, ignoring the sheets flying up and across the floor.

“Yikes.” 

Zylus joins them, wiping his hands on his jumper.

“The fucking hand driers are broken again. I swear to god, this place.”

“There’s always something,” Rythian agrees. He sighs and pitches forward towards the floor dramatically, outstretched hands knocking Xephos’ foot.

“Would you like some help?” Xephos asks. 

Rythian immediately goes to brush it off, say ‘haha, thanks, it’s fine,’ and go back to struggling. Instead, he sits up, slams his book shut and shoves it back in his bag. He turns and looks at Xephos, really looks—probably too intensely, seeing how his brow crumples in concern—and makes up his mind.

“Xephos,” he says. “I need your help.”

To his credit, he really does not look surprised. He catches onto what Rythian means and slips his phone out of his pocket, flicking out his calendar.

“Right, yes, we’re doing a revision session. At mine, I suppose. I think… tomorrow night? Saturday? Stay over tomorrow to do both?” Xephos glances up at him with a raised eyebrow. Rythian sighs in relief and smiles awkwardly at the corner of his mouth.

“Whatever you’re happiest with, man, you’re fantastic.”

“Can I slide in on that?” Ravs asks, scrunching his nose.

“Sure, sure, I’ll ask a few others too, probably.”

 

 

> **Actual Maths Lessons (Free!)**
> 
> _Thursday 10:45_
> 
> Probably an Alien has added You
> 
> Probably an Alien has added Nano Noodle
> 
> Probably an Alien has added Trott
> 
> Probably an Alien has changed the icon
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Everyone’s invited, not obligatory obvs_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Place: mine_
> 
> _Time: Friday 3;15 to Saturday 19;00, drop in whenever, sleep over if you want_
> 
> _Bring: books, pencil case, your motivation, sleeping bag, toothbrush, snacks_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Please let’s try to keep on topic_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Trott, Lal and Bed I’d love if you could come help <3 _
> 
> Ravishing: _Cheers Xeph_
> 
> Sjinfacts: _coolio :)_
> 
> Probably an Alien: _Np_

 

Once Thursday is over, Rythian breathes a huge sigh of relief. He and his best friends put as much distance as possible as quickly as possible between themselves and the school gates, and Zoey buys a packet of cookies to share from Sainsbury’s bakery; it’s not even a special occasion like a birthday or the end of term, just a really really bad day. He says goodbye to them outside the station and gets the third bus that comes, waiting until the stop empties some, and when he gets home he does fucking _nothing._ He lands face first on his bed, and after a while ferrets out his phone to scroll through the internet, only getting up to have dinner, use the bathroom, and pack his bags for the next day.

It is undoubtedly a huge pain in the ass to lug all three art folder, biology binder and sleeping bag (stuffed with pyjamas and toothbrush) to school in addition to his usual rucksack. He’s worn his hoodie and shoved his phone charger and most recently-acquired volume of manga (in German, because it's cheaper) into his bag, which join his extra things in his locker that morning. 

Rythian’s mind wanders, occasionally. A lot of the time, recently, it’s ended up on Lalna. Whenever Lalna talks to him, Rythian’s eloquence and logical reasoning seems to clock off as it sees the arrival of his frustration and crawling anxiety, and he’s stranded amongst the rubble of his scattered thoughts and the gusts of emotions that take his feet from under him. What an utter nuisance.

Regardless, he still has to sit through several lessons a day in the same room as that asshole. Like now, in art, but the person Rythian catches watching him is Xephos. He looks a little troubled. Rythian’d like to be able to say he can feel when he has eyes on him, but he apparently cannot. He looks back down at his research sheet, which he hasn’t touched in the past half hour. He’s been fiddling with his pens and paintbrush, instead, and generally making a miserable bother of himself. A book slaps loudly on the table next to him, and he jerks around to find Xephos dropping his stool with a clatter and sliding onto it, effortlessly inserting himself to share Rythian’s space.

“I’m making an origami and card arrangement,” Xeph says, opening his book to reveal square paper sheets, each with their own patterns and colours. Rythian glances back over to his desk, which he finds to be littered with an assortment of flower-looking objects. Lalna, adjacent, seems to be inspecting a lilac one. “I thought I’d show you how to do it, if you don’t already know.”

Rythian smiles. “Sure,” he agrees, and slides one of the squares towards himself. Xephos shows him how to make a simple star—he thinks he’ll call them ninja stars, himself—and so he makes several, happy to have something to do with his hands. He wonders when the teacher is going to take any notice of them.

After first period, Rythian is ready to give up and go home. He’s tired, goddamnit, and the sub for German refuses to get his name right and he forgot to do his business work and biology sucks and _ugh_. Just let him rest. 

Every second on the clock he finds to tick slower than the one before. He’s seen Daltos put his watch down face-first on his desk in maths so he would ‘stop looking at it, because it makes the time go faster,’ but Rythian is going to go out of his mind before this lesson ends whether he stares at the clock or not. The only thing he vaguely likes about his biology class is the old-fashioned style of the room, with its two columns of wooden desks which are scorched and scratched and smelling faintly of varnish, the wooden cabinets running the length of the room under the windows, and the matching sideboards with their glass windows against the walls. In here, Lalna can’t throw stupid shit at his head (most notably because he sits in front of him), and Rythian is blessed with a seat on the outside edge of the bench to sit three, fairly far back, making it nearly too easy to get away with ignoring the lesson. When he hears the door to the class shut, and the noise level suddenly pick up, he sighs and leans back to stretch.

“Hey Lal, you staying over tonight?” He hears Xephos ask, at the other end of the bench, as a calculator is dropped onto his book. The screen reads, ‘Y0,105ERnd(%’ as if it should mean something to him. After a minute of frowning at it, he realises it’s a crude, ‘Yo, loser :)’. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, clearing the display. He types out 5πCC-MY-D1CC, unable to find a better substitute for u, and shoves the calculator back at Lalna, who’s chatting to Xephos and Littlewood. Rythian resumes drawing angry circles on his work. After a few seconds, the calculator is slipped back into his field of vision.

1F-Y0π-5AY-50

_If you say so._

Rythian jerks up and gapes at him, inhaling suddenly enough he almost chokes.

“You—you shut up!” 

Lalna’s gentle smile stretches to a smirk and he’s, he’s _laughing_ at Rythian and _god,_ how embarrassing. He has no shame. None! None at all!

Littlewood pats him on the back, looking bewildered.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Rythian scowls after Lalna as he walks away. He can feel a burning sensation beginning to creep over his cheeks. 

“Yeah, fine. Sorry.”

Xephos is laughing at him, too.

 

Walking out of the gates after school, Xephos appears to have a small cult following. Rythian, Zylus and Zoey head off to get crisps and chocolate and biscuits and what-have-you before following on to Xeph’s house. Rythian hasn’t been before, so they’re mostly relying on Zylus, who takes them down the main road, up a steep hill, and onto a bus. By the time they get there, Rythian is _very_ glad he decided to leave all of his other books and folders in his locker. His other subjects can get fucked if they think he’s going to do any homework this weekend. 

The door they come to is under the porch of a pretty white double-fronted place with a neat front garden, pergola with creeping greenery, rose bushes, clipped hedgerows, and is one-hundred-percent the kind you’d expect to cost an arm and a leg without even looking at the postcode. The doorbell rings with exactly the sound Rythian expects it to. Xephos answers with a twix in his mouth, and grins at them.

“Jesus Christ, Xeph,” Zylus tuts. “Close your mouth, will you?” He leans in and kisses the corner of his lips anyway. It’s very sweet. (Even without the chocolate.)

Xephos leads them into the first room on the left, apparently one of two living rooms—‘reception rooms,’ if he’s going to be so middle class. Already sitting around several coffee tables of varying sizes are Nano, Smith, Trott, Ravs, Lomadia, Sjin, Nilesy, Strife, Honeydew and Lalna. He knows that Bedgar and Mousie might drop in later or tomorrow, too, but that does not change the infuriating need to know where Lalna is at all times. 

Having chewed valiantly, and almost choked trying to swallow, Xephos finally manages to free his mouth.

“Please sit down, wherever you want. We’re going to start in a second. Look up the topics you’re having the most trouble with, first.”

Rythian does just that. He settles himself between Trott and Ravs and pulls out the textbook he’d bought in the hopes he’d get better someday. After a few minutes of chatting and settling in, during which people have gotten out their drinks and their things, Daltos has arrived, and Zylus has made himself useful as Xephos’ personal manservant, Xephos manages to get everyone’s attention. Now, the attention of a dozen hyper year elevens, most of whom do not want to have to be doing maths, is a heady, heavy thing, especially with all of these brilliant minds. Regardless, Xephos is comfortable leading, like he owns the stage. Rythian thinks he’s quite amazing, in that regard. He wishes he could be the same.

Once they’ve all pooled their weakest topics, those with the most votes are sensibly covered first. Xephos and Honeydew use a textbook to find practice questions for everyone, nipping upstairs every so often to use the scanner. Then Lalna suggests they take a picture and airdrop it—or better yet: _send it to the group_ —and everyone’s faces give the impression that he’d actually just invented something unprecedented. Apparently, they as friends are all just as fool as each other. 

Trott is kind enough to near personally tutor him, which makes Rythian wonder if Xephos had asked him to, or had asked Smith to ask him to. So when he can finally go through the whole process of both finding the equation of a circle and constructing a graphic polynomial by himself without having to be told what happens when and why, he feels like crying.

“Thank you, Trott. Thank you so much,” he says, muffled, because he’s buried his face in his arms.

“I’m glad you get it,” Trott replies kindly. “There’s no need to thank me.” 

He pats him on the shoulder. The next moment, Rythian can feel someone else leaning over his other shoulder, one hand placed hesitantly on his back. It doesn’t feel like Ravs, and there’s what sounds like a whispered argument going on over his head, but he really does not care right now. Whoever wants to look at his shitty mess of completing the square nonsense, it doesn’t make a difference to him.

A fair while later, Rythian feels himself begin to drift off to sleep. He’s stopped wanting to cry, now, and everyone seems to have left him to himself. Groggy, he sits up and rubs at his eyes. It’s early evening, and he can just about see Xephos and Honeydew in the hall waving takeaway menus at each other. Smith has come over to cling to Trott whinging about something or other, and at some point Lalna has made himself comfortable nearby.

“Has anyone ever told you that the way you set out your work is very pretty?” He asks, as if this is a normal conversation, and Rythian is too nonplussed to do anything but respond truthfully.

“No,” he says, “because my work looks like shit.”

Lalna frowns. “That isn’t true. It’s only because of the rubbing out marks.”

“Your chemistry is always impeccable,” Trott adds, and then pinches Smith in the side, who shouts.

“Guys!” Xephos calls. He frisbees the leaflets in hand across the room. Instinctively, Rythian’s hands come up to protect his face. “Figure out amongst yourselves what you want. We recommend pizza, but you’re welcome to trek down to the kebab place.”

Of course, this ignites several lighthearted arguments, including the timeless pineapple on pizza one. Sjin insists on getting one, though Rythian has no idea whether he even likes pineapple. In the end, Rythian goes with a few people to the kebab place, and then decides he’d rather go to the Chinese next door with Ravs. When they return, Xephos jokingly turns his nose up at the scent of the chicken and lamb doners, and sticks to his no-cheese veggie supreme. Of course, all of their leftovers are thrown into a few boxes and put in the fridge for tomorrow, and the picky eaters among them are comforted by the promise of a microwave amidst shocked outbursts of, _‘but cold pizza is the best!’_  

Now fed, there is no chance any of them are going to get any work done. They lounge around chatting for about an hour, before Zylus finished his Sprite and decides they should use the bottle for a higher-stakes truth or dare. Higher stakes, how? Rythian isn’t sure, but the apparent rules are that when one spins the bottle, whoever it lands on is the spinner’s victim to be truth-ed or dared. 

Ten minutes in, now that Nilesy has performed a majestic Céline Dion solo, Lomadia has read more of Strife’s sappy texts to his boyfriend than Rythian cares to know, and Sjin has fallen face-first out of the smallest window in the room (and they’d even let him back in after), someone has the bright idea of making a forfeit rule using spin the bottle. Well, at least the bottle makes more sense now, he guesses. Rythian maintains calling the unfortunate bottle victims, victims.

Next up is himself, brilliant, and he’s beginning to regret becoming friends with any of these people.

“So, _Rythian,_ ” Zylus says, ominously, “truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he answers. He does not feel brave in the least. Zylus scrutinises him for a few unfathomably tense moments.

“Ask him whether he wanks off!” Smith stage whispers, which causes a roll of snickering and Rythian a whole load of grief, because Zylus clearly thinks this is a great idea.

“Go on, then! When was the last time?”

Rythian groans deeply. “Is it too late to forfeit?”

Several people make noises akin to ‘aw, come on,’ but Zylus snorts and tells him, “Not if it’s you.”

Rythian, too, snorts (unattractively, he’s sure). For a second, he contemplates having to kiss Zylus, and while the idea kind of thrills him in a way he doesn’t want to explore, he’s also not one for backing down from a challenge, and he certainly won’t be the first to forfeit. 

“Tuesday, if you must know. Horrible voyeurs, you lot.”

He gets a few laughs and a whistle, but he’s certain that this will not be the worst thing that happens tonight. Soon enough, Nano proves him right, which seems horribly daring and uncharacteristic and to just burst out of her mouth unbidden when she challenges Trott to play a game of “strip snap,” whatever the fuck that is, with her and Smith. Smith whines about being dragged into it, but of course snap is just not as fun with two people, so then he suggests  _everyone_ join in. The maniacs that Rythian’s friends are, they agree. And he hates them. As soon as he gets over how much he really doesn’t, he will hate them. Definitely. For sure. It seems more and more likely when he’s lost both socks already.

It’s fast and loud and ridiculous and crowded and there are too many people so they end up as two groups. It’s bizarre how many people carry around packs of cards. Eventually, because no one actually wants to get completely naked, they decide that if people down to just their underwear have been eliminated, that Zoey wins. She is very proud of herself, and has both vest and jeans still on her person. There’s then a mad scramble for everyone to redress themselves, because all manner of things have inevitably been chucked across the room in their enthusiasm, but the bottle game quickly resumes. Next go, Lalna is told he has to wear a blindfold for the duration of his next three turns so he can’t see who his victim is. Between rounds, they charitably let him lift the scarf, and he laughs when he sees the terrible pen art he’s done all over Nano’s left arm. 

Rythian laughs just as loudly as the rest of them do, because seeing him blindly waving about is hilarious. Zoey then has to reveal her first crush, and Xephos is asked what his lowest ever score has been on a test (47%). But then Lalna re-ties the blindfold, and the bottle lands on Rythian. _Of course it does._

He feels every other person in the room hold their breath. Glancing between them he sees more looks of gleeful anticipation than grimaces or winces, and never let it be known that Zylus is a loyal friend. Because he isn’t. He’s a right bastard. He’s grinning his face off, look at him. Smug arsehole.

“Truth or dare?” Lalna asks, holding out a hand for each option. Rythian crawls over to kneel in front of him, and takes his sweet time doing so. If he chooses dare, then god knows what this sadist will make him do, even if he doesn’t know it’s _Rythian_. But if he chooses truth… That could, potentially, be damning. Of course, he could always lie _,_ but there’s bound to be someone here to call his bluff, and his honour… 

Rythian hesitates a moment longer, and then taps Lalna’s right hand. And regrets it instantly, watching the lazy grin saunter its way onto his face with swiftly-evolving horror. Lalna hums.

“I dare you to forfeit,” he says. Rythian’s heart sinks. The anxiety that had leapt into his throat threatens to choke him. Lalna is still fucking smiling, and he can hear the silence as everyone else watches them intently. He refuses to look at them, even if only to keep face. Because as much as this is awful and terrifying and just _The Worst_ —it’s also _really_ exciting. 

Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in again, and out again; he takes three deep breaths, places his hands on Lalna’s cheeks to tip his head up, and kisses him. Someone gasps, and a second later someone whistles obnoxiously. 

Rythian is not going to be shown up by this jerk—he just isn’t. He kisses him properly, unashamedly using what he learnt the… Previous time. He doesn’t care if it gives him away. He is not a _coward,_ god damnit. 

When he lets go, he scrambles backwards to his seat. His breathing is heavier than he’d like, and everyone is looking at him weirdly (some of them look impressed, which—no).

“Am I allowed to know who snogged me?” Lalna asks unevenly. His voice is a bit odd, Rythian thinks in minor celebration.

“No, absolutely not!” Zylus laughs. “You’ll just have to guess.” 

Maybe he isn’t a _complete_ knob.

Rythian spins the bottle and it lands on Ravs, who says “Truth,” without him even having to ask, the legend. People do their usual laughing and cheering, giving him time to think through the haze in his mind.

Unable to come up with anything better, Rythian shuffles up to him and whispers, “What’s the dumbest thing you can remember doing?”

Ravs repeats the question for everyone to hear and then launches into an elaborate story involving a treehouse, a bike, a cheese toastie, and a copy of _Hitchhiker's Guide._ Sometime during the story Lalna removes the blindfold. Naturally, he catches Rythian watching him—fuck, why is he always doing that?—and winks. He winks. Rythian wants to fall through the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say there'd be less Xeph in this? I don't remember doing so, but it was a lie apparently.  
> [tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


	4. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hesitant to post when I don't have anything more written but I have no schedule and I hate that too

As the evening rolls on into night, the games get boring and the players get tired. The tables were shoved over to the wall hours ago, and they all lounge around in the middle of the room on their sleeping bags talking absolute incoherent rubbish and munching leftover sweets and biscuits. They’re that weird mix of hyper-delirious, and quickly approaching the midnight tick-over to Deep Conversation.

In anticipation of settling in for a long night, Rythian had excused himself to spend a considerably long time in the bathroom psyching himself up to remove his binder and change into his pyjamas. He isn’t out of place, not with the mismatch of clothing and nightclothing kicking about, which is a plus. And everyone already  _ knows,  _ which is also a plus. And they’re all his friends, which is another plus. 

His tiredness and discomfort won out, in the end, but he’s still so self conscious it could be laughable. Zoey and Honeydew are helping him paint his toenails with the nail polishes that were produced from thin air while he was out of the room, and Lalna— _ always  _ Lalna, can’t do _ anything _ without noticing him, can’t go  _ anywhere  _ to avoid him—is looking. Thankfully, at his legs. Though this too makes him fidgety and gives him the want to curl into himself, which would be bad for the nail polish. 

For some reason there are about five shades of purple and pink, and, like, ten of blue. Nano complains that he doesn’t understand the differences of each (what, like the three shiny ones are really that different from each other?) while she uses sponges to make admittedly quite gorgeous designs in red/black and lilac/blue on her fingers. He glances down to find his toes have much more intricate designs than he could imagine to do himself. He wonders whether someone always carries around this medical-tool-looking brush kit, or if it belongs to Xephos. They have to open the windows and patio doors to save themselves from suffocating in the smell of ethyl acetate.  C 4 H 8 O 2 , he thinks? Entertainingly, Sjin elects not to lie by the windows, possibly due to trauma. Anyway, Rythian is glad for his hoodie when the wind blows in, chilly and wintry and not enough like spring at all. The nail polish goes away and the windows and doors are hurriedly closed. Zylus helps Xephos dig out blankets, and the remaining sofa cushions end up on the floor. 

Too tired and uncoordinated to build proper blanket forts, they huddle together, curled up in the blankets in a heap atop what they have tried to make the best cushion pile in the world. 

“What do you think will happen once we finish exams?” Asks Daltos.

“Fuckin’, probably nothing,” says Xephos. “Just… Fuck off on holiday and that’s it.”

Will hums. “We gotta come back for prom and results.”

“Ooooh, prom!” Nano says. “I didn’t think we’d get one of those.”

“You got anyone to go with?” Lalna asks her, and she giggles.

“It’s a secret!”

“’Bout you?” Lomadia asks.

“Pfffft,  _ no. _ ” He says. “Who the fuck would want to lmao.”

“That’s harsh, Lal.”

“True though, innit? What about Bedgar and Angor? Anyone know if they’re going with anyone?” 

“Nah, no idea.”

“Sjin, I heard that Sips asked you to prom really elaborately,” needles Honeydew.

“Oi, shut up. Stop spreading rumours.”

“But did he?” Others start joining in, whining their own accusations.

“Shhhhhhh, not telling.”

“I bet he had like a, like, speaker thing. Boombox.”

“Come on, fuck off.”

“You’re boring,” says Smith. “I bet Xeph and Zylus are going together.”

“’Course, who else would I ask?” Zylus confirms, overacting his devotion for comedic effect.

“Babe…”

“Babe yourself.”

Zoey snorts. “Ew, genuine affection lol.”

“Shut up, Zoey,” Rythian giggles dozily. “You’re literally the  _ worst  _ for that.”

“Because I love her, and you’re just jealous. You’re the worst kept secret of this entire school!”

In an instant, the skip of his heart has it dropping through the floor and back up again. “ _ Fuck. _ Fuck off. That is  _ not _ fair.”

“True, though,” mutters Lomadia, not at all quietly. There’s a silence, straining with his friends’ efforts to not laugh. And then it breaks, and they’re all giggling again.

“Soooo, who d’ya think’s sucked the most dick in this school?”

“Ross, definitely.”

“Nah, I bet it’s Parv.”

“Oi!” Will squawks indignantly.

“Parv’s only ever dated Will though?” Says Daltos.

“Exactly, lmao,” Smith snorts.

“I hate  _ every single one of you _ .” 

“You don’t think it’s an achievement?”

“Shut up!”

“Awwww, but he  _ loooooves  _ you!”

“I gathered _that_ by myself, thank you!”

“Okay but can we go back to Ross for a sec, ’cus I definitely thought out of the three of them it’d be Smith.”

Smith can’t seem to stop himself bursting out into laughter. “We don’t tell secrets, guys,” he manages between cackles. “They wouldn’t be secrets if we did!”

“Definitely Ross though.”

“R.I.P. Ross.”

“I texted him, and he says he’s pissed that you lot think he’s losing to Parv.”

“Well then tell him he better work harder.”

“He knows.”

“You guys are  _ weird, _ man.”

“This is not news.”

“Yeah, but shush.”

“Anyone here still  _ not  _ fucked anyone, you depraved children?”

“… Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Mm hmm.”

“Neither.”

“Yeah.”

“Me neither.”

“... Well then.” 

“My faith in humanity is restored.”

“Yeah, yeah, good for you.”

“No no, really, you should never rush it.”

“And remember kids! Use protection!”

“Oh shut  _ up! _ ”

After the giggling, the conversation dies down a bit, and Rythian finds himself getting stuck on the same thoughts over and over as he falls in and out of coherency like a skipping, faded record. With all the sleeping bags opened as duvets, the blankets, and the bodies, the room is warm and cozy again—drifting off becomes ineluctable.

* * *

Most of them are woken by the doorbell at around 8:45 on Sunday morning. Of course, they hadn’t slept until just a few hours earlier, technically, and it certainly feels like it.

Somehow, Xephos, Will and Zoey are already up and around, and open the door for Bedgar and Mousie.

“Aw, man! If I knew how cool of a sleepover this was I’d’ve skipped Explorers,” Bed says, too loudly for the time. Through the gap in the curtains, Rythian is being blinded by the watery silver sunlight. Cloudy again today, he supposes.

“Aren’t you a leader?” Zoey asks. “Can you even do that?”

“Eh, I could have just called in to say I needed the revision time. Jenny is soft on me.”

Will scoffs. “Who isn’t. You’re a problem child in disguise.”

“Excuse me,” Bed scoffs, mock outraged. Rythian sits up to watch him expertly dramatising his betrayal. “My grades and behaviour are flawless.”

“Yeah, until you go pulling pranks on the midgets with Angor and Sjin.”

“Slander!”

“Bullshit.”

“Anyway, up and at ’em, everyone!” Xephos declares, leaning into the front room.

“Will you lot be quiet?” Smith groans. “Jesus  _ Christ. _ ” 

“Give us a minute, will yers?” Whines Nilesy.

Rythian gathers all of his clothes to his chest as he gets up. “Morning,” he greets them in the hallway.

“Morning, my dude!” Mousie grins. She’s always cheery; he admires her for it, privately. Then, before Zylus can even bother to sit up in his makeshift bed, she goes and leaps on him, all boisterous chatter and charm.

Rythian dresses quickly in the bathroom and returns to the scene of carnage, only to be ushered into the kitchen-diner to choose his breakfast from the bowls of fruit, cereals and pastries someone has prepared. God, this really is the life.

Soon enough, everyone else shuffles in to join him. He’s already washed his plate when some of them are only just pouring their milk, so he takes the opportunity to nip out and sort his things and his needs where there aren’t people around to be overlooked by. Instead of sitting idly once he’s done, he begins to clear people’s things towards the walls. He folds everything up in their sleeping bags, and replacing the tables in the middle of the room. Trott and Smith slide in next, rooting around for whatever where he’s packed it away. Trott smiles, plonking himself down at Rythian’s side.

“You ready to learn some magic?” Smith asks with a wink. “He’ll teach you things you won’t find in school.”

Rythian laughs. “If it lets me pass, I’ll take anything.”

Trott pats his arm with a smirk. “Be careful what you wish for, buddy,” he says, and they get stuck into some work.

The next event of note is lunch. Somehow, everything is about food these days. Xephos’ parents, who have been inconspicuously absent, cook them some pasta, with a separate bowl of bolognese (because who knows what people like?) and large servings of salad and fresh baguette. 

“Do you eat like this every day?” Nilesy asks. “This is so good, man. And it’s all fresh!”

Xephos huffs, a tiny strand of stray spaghetti on his blue and white t-shirt. “On a small scale, kinda. They’ve just done this because it’s easy for lots of you assholes.”

“Dude, your parents are really good cooks. Say thanks for us,” Mousie adds. They devolve into silence so as to shove more food in their faces, faster.

“Ugh,” Zoey says. “I can’t wait for summer.” 

There’s a collection of hums and agreements among the group.

“When it gets hot we should go to the pool.”

“Or the beach!”

“It’ll keep us from just, ya know, fucking off and forgetting everyone.”

“Yeah…” Rythian sighs. He thinks about the uncertainty everything changing between now and next September. “That  _ would  _ be nice…”

It turns out that food is an equally bad idea as it was the previous evening, because everyone’s attention span is shot. A couple of people have given up entirely to wait until they feel like doing something again. The weather is still mild, so Xephos has opened the patio doors for them to sit outside. Rythian is now glaring at a vectors problem that no matter how many times he does, he can’t seem to get right. 

“Still haven’t got it?” Trott asks.

Rythian chews his bottom lip. “I’ll… I’ll get it. I want to do it myself.”

“O’ course you will, that’s fine. I wasn’t trying to pressure you.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Back in a bit.”

Trott nods. “If you’re not back in half an hour we’ll send the search party.”

Thankfully no one is using the downstairs toilet, so he doesn’t have to snoop through the house. He washes his hands with liberal soap and checks his reflection in the mirror. Today is an okay day. He doesn’t look great, but considering he’s woken up from a sleepover, he doesn’t look too bad. Just for good measure, he cups his hands under the cold tap and tries his best to not get water everywhere when he washes his face. He can do this problem, he  _ knows _ he can, he’s done all of the other ones. Maybe he mixed up a sign somewhere.

The door to the toilet swings shut with a thud, but Rythian pauses, thrown by the unusual addition to the background noise. There’s something musical, and though he can barely hear it above the murmur of the living room, he’s sure it’s coming from upstairs. He puts a hand on the banister and begins to creep up, craning his neck around the corner to the landing. One door up here is shut, and no sound seems to be coming from any other room. Now he’s up here, it’s obvious that someone is playing the guitar. Curiosity overrides his wish to let private remain private. He taps on the door lightly with his knuckles before turning the handle and peeking around into the room. 

This is clearly Xephos’ bedroom, with ageing periodic table and solar system posters stuck to the walls and ceiling with blu-tack, and a desk piled with exercise books and notepads. On the bed, Lalna is sat clutching an electric guitar of some sort.  _ Deer-in-headlights,  _ Rythian thinks to himself. 

“Oh.” Rythian says. “It’s you.”

“It’s me,” Lalna replies. They watch each other awkwardly for a few seconds. “Are you going to come in?”

Rythian scrunches his nose and half shrugs, dragging the door past himself so it swings to. He sits on the floor opposite, fairly far away from Lalna. It should be weird, but he won’t concede to anything closer.

Now, Rythian is not the best at instruments (he’s happy to leave that to Parv and his band), so he doesn’t know what guitar this is, only that it isn’t a bass. The closest he’s been to musical talent is a year of singing lessons back before he began his transition and his frequent impromptu singalongs in the privacy of his room. Therefore, he can’t at all vouch for his voice. 

Only, when Lalna starts playing an odd accoustic version (because there’s no amp) of an Oasis song Rythian recognises, and shockingly isn’t  _ Wonderwall,  _ he begins to pick up the words he knows in a mumble. After the second verse he realises he’s singing at an almost proper-volume, and hopes to every hell there is that he’s carrying the tune. At the end of that song Lalna pauses, glancing up quickly. Rythian draws his knees into his chest and stares fixedly at his hands until Lalna resumes strumming. He doesn’t know this one, so takes the chance to watch Lalna’s face as he plays. It takes a few seconds to realise he’s actually murmuring the words, too, and Rythian can only catch a few. The moment is delicate. Lalna’s expression is focused but soft, and his posture is relaxed. Rythian picks up more of the chorus than anything else until he reaches what sounds like a bridge. His strumming drops to plucking at the strings. It’s easy to hear Lalna as he murmurs along. 

“Over and over many setting suns, I have run, I have waited for the rain to come… 

“When through that mist I see the shape of you, and I know… I know that… ”

For whatever reason, he trails off before he picks up the chorus again. When the song finishes, he almost immediately transitions into the next one.

“What was that song called?” Rythian interrupts. Lalna looks up as if surprised he’s there.

“Sun,” he says, looping the introduction for another bar to lead in. “What, can’t keep up with the hipsters?”

Lalna smirks and Rythian narrows his eyes at him and huffs, curling in on himself again. He flatly refuses to allow himself to appreciate Lalna’s playing after that, even though he stays for all of it. He tries to covertly slip his phone out and search “Sun” on his music app. He assumes it’s the first result, with the album cover a woman’s legs through the ceiling as if it were a skirt. Lalna would be into shit like that. The song after it on the album is “Someday”, which, by the repetition in Lalna’s singing, he thinks was the song he played after. He hits add and tries to make a mental note to have a look at the lyrics later.

Lalna has moved on from Two Door Cinema Club to Arctic Monkeys, which of course Rythian does recognise. On principle, though, he refuses to join in, and glares at him every time he looks up. If he’s tapping his fingers against his knee, well…  He blames his subconscious.

After awhile of relative peace, the both of them are veritably startled when Nano shouts up to them. 

“Lal! Are you up there?”

Rythian scrambles up and swiftly leaves, letting the door hang open behind him.

“I am! Do you need something?” Lalna shouts back to her. Rythian makes his way down the stairs quickly. Nano, at the bottom, raises both eyebrows at him when she passes on her way up. He’s pretty sure she only ever does so because she can’t move them one at a time.

“No, just wondering where you were… ” 

Rythian tunes them out and runs away to hide in his exercise books. No one bothers him with more than a “hey”. He puts his headphones in and hits play on Two Door Cinema Club, and rejoices when he finds the minus he’d accidentally dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this too soft? I think it's too soft. We'll have to see.  
> Thanks for reading!


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